


Out of Joint

by earth_dragon



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Cliche, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Massage, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earth_dragon/pseuds/earth_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo helps Sam relax after a rough day at work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Joint

**Author's Note:**

> My old boss used to yell at me for cracking my knuckles at work, which gave me the inspiration for this PWP.

CRACK!  
  
 _Huh?_ Frodo started, lowering his tea cup. He listened.  
  
CRACK!  
  
No, he wasn’t just imagining things, there was the sound again. Rising from the table, Frodo peered down the hallway; nothing seemed amiss, but… _Better safe than sorry._ He quickly made his way down the hall, checking every room as he passed; everything was exactly as it should have been. _Hum, maybe I am just hearing things._ Closing the last door behind him, he turned back up the hallway to the kitchen, but just as he was about to take up his tea once more...  
  
CRACK!  
  
 _What in the Shire?_  
  
This time he turned the other corner, and nearly ran smack into Sam in the mud room. “Oh, Sam. I didn’t hear you come in.”  
  
“Just now did, sir,” he answered. “I was just wiping things down a bit.” Balancing on one foot, Sam propped his other foot against his knee, wiping the dirt off with a wet rag.  
  
“Oh,” Frodo replied, watching Sam wash his feet, an incredibly mundane act, but something about the methodical motion was strangely captivating. _And when did he scar the side of his foot like that?_ “Did you happen to hear anything when you came in?” Frodo finally asked.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“I’m not sure; a popping or cracking sound. I heard it twice but can’t figure out where it’s coming from.”  
  
 _Kneed, swirl. Now between the toes; now smoothing down the golden hair._  
  
Frodo watched Sam’s hands, so rough on his own feet, almost as it he were scrubbing the cloth down a wash board. _He’s certainly none too gentle with himself. I would be much more gentle if -- Oh bugger, Frodo Baggins! Get back to the subject at hand._  
  
They both spoke.  
  
“So you haven’t heard…”  
  
“I haven’t noticed…”  
  
CRACK!  
  
Frodo stared, wide eyed, his sentence fading into oblivion.  
  
“… any strange noises, Mr. Frodo, but if you want me to have a look around…” Again Sam pulled on one of his toes.  
  
CRACK!  
  
“Sam!” Frodo nearly shouted, incredulous. “It’s you!”  
  
“Huh?” Sam turned his head to him, clearly confused. _Another pull._ CRACK! “I don’t understand, sir.”  
  
“It’s you, Sam.” Frodo stepped up to him and lightly touched the top of his foot, too surprised to be embarrassed. “When you pull on your toes like that, they snap.”  
  
As if to emphasize Frodo’s point, Sam pulled on another toe.  
  
CRACK!  
  
Frodo felt the bones and muscles in Sam’s foot shift under his finger tips and he shivered. “Doesn’t that hurt, Sam?”  
  
“Aye, a bit, but it’s like to hurt worse later on if I don’t.” He flexed his ankle, which promptly cracked, then set his clean foot down and lifted the still-dirty foot to repeat the whole procedure.  
  
 _Scratch, rub._ CRACK! _Kneed, pull._ CRACK!  
  
A warm flush drifted through Frodo’s neck and face, but a cold chill skated down his spine. He had, of course, seen others pop their joints before; why, he’d even popped a few of his own. But Sam’s joints were so loud, and they snapped with something akin to violence. Sam, however, was completely unphased. “Why will it hurt worse later?” He finally forced out.  
  
“’Cause when the muscles get all tight it could lock ‘em in place, so to speak. It could jam all of ‘em up, an’ then they would be terrible sore and couldn’t move properly.”  
  
“Oh.” CRACK! “I didn’t know gardening could be so hard on your feet.” Frodo stammered dumbly. CRACK! He though for just a second on all of the miles Sam must walk during his long hours in the garden, trips to the market, and other farms. All totaled, Sam must have walked nearly half of Middle Earth, all without ever leaving Hobbitan. No wonder his feet were scarred.  
  
Sam grinned and raised his head, his foot mercifully silent and completed now. “Aye sir, gardenin’ can be hard on everythin‘.” Frodo continued to stare at him until Sam just shook his head. “Come on now, Mr. Frodo, enough of my dallyin’. Let’s go find you a spot of supper.”  
  
~~*~~

Sam turned over the side meat, sizzling away in the pan, and a heady, delicious scent filled Frodo’s nose. He lifted his head from his task, crumbling cheese, to sniff appreciatively.

  
“All should be ready in just a little bit, Mr. Frodo. When this here bacon is done I’ll scramble some eggs.” Sam transferred the spatula from his right to his left hand, and flexed his fingers wide.

“That’s fine, Sam.” Frodo caught his movement and once again lifted his eyes. Sam’s hands were big, rough, and constantly battered because of his hard work, but Frodo knew they could move and cradle with the most tender demeanor. He had seen those hands coddle seedlings and spring lambs, tightly grip garden tools, and even once, in a rare but pure moment of anger, ball up into a fist and strike the face of another.

CRACK!

Though he has been watching Sam, (to the point of distraction) Frodo was unprepared to hear that sound again.

While still gripping the spatula, Sam ground the knuckles of his right hand into the firm heal of his left. The resulting snap was immediate, and reverberated all the way up through Frodo’s own much smaller and significantly weaker hands. _How can he stand to do that?_

Sam turned away from the stove then and Frodo quickly averted his eyes, refocusing again (though only half-heartedly) on his task. For a moment he looked at his own long and pale fingers; sometimes after a day of writing the joints would pop, but it was never more than that: just a subtle pop. _Of course, my hands don’t do even half the work of Sam’s. My feet either, really._ Sam spent nearly his entire work day on his feet, Frodo realized; he had never really thought about it before.

_He must be so tired sometimes._

Sam returned from the cooler, cradling a few eggs against his chest. He got to the counter and so carefully placed them in a bowl. “I should’a taken the bowl with me,” He declared, sounding relieved; “I was scared I was gonna drop ‘em.” Taking up the spatula again, he removed the meat from the frying pan, laying it aside on a serving plate.

“I doubt you’d drop them, Sam.” Frodo replied quickly, speaking aloud the thoughts he didn’t even realize were in his head. “Your hands are far too graceful for that.”

Sam turned to look at him, curious and bemused. Frodo blushed hot, but Sam only grinned self-depreciatingly. “Well, sir, I dunno ‘bout that, but they’re usually sturdy enough.” Frodo didn’t know if it was the talk of hands that prompted it, but Sam jammed the knuckles of his left hand into the heal of his right.

CRACK!

“If gardening is rough on your feet, then I imagine it must be terribly hard on your hands.” Frodo winced but tried to sound sympathetic.

“Oh, aye, it can make ‘em a mite sore, but your back and shoulders bear the brunt of it.”

“Hum.” He watched as Sam expertly broke the eggs into the pan, then mixed in the butter and milk. “I hadn’t thought about your back and shoulders.” Oh, but he was now. He could picture Sam lifting, pulling, and tugging; his muscles flowing and rippling with the effort.

“Mr. Frodo, sir?” Sam’s voice, softly, apologetically called him back from his reverie. “I think that’ll be plenty of cheese.”

Frodo looked down: he had crumbled nearly half the wheel.

“Oh. So it is.” Sam just stood and looked at him, obviously a little perplexed by his master’s distracted behavior. Frodo stood, walked to the stove and took the stirring fork from Sam’s hand.

“Mr. Frodo, what…”

“Why don’t you go get us some ale and I’ll finish up here.” Frodo smiled. Sam’s sweet brown eyes went wide, surprised. “Go ahead, I can finish this up. Besides, you’ve been on your feet all day.”

Sam’s eyes, though still wide, suddenly cleared. “Oh, Mr. Frodo, I’m fine, really. I don’t mind.”

_Oh yes, you’re fine -- which is why your bones sound like they’re all going to break every time you move!_   “Really Sam, it’s alright. Just go get us some ale and this will be done before you know it.

“Well, alright then.”

A few minutes later Sam sat at the table, still uncomfortable as Frodo served him. Since they had plenty of cheese Frodo had melted extra atop the scrambled eggs, and was quite pleased with the results. “Tuck in, Sam-lad. It looks pretty good, even if I say so myself.” He sat directly across from Sam and took a long draught of his ale. “Ah, speaking of good.”

Sam had to grin at that. “Aye, that it is, sir. And thank you.”

“You and the Gaffer make the best home-brew in all the Shire.”

Sam blushed and that same self-depreciating smile crept across his face. “Ah, well, thank you.”

They dug into their meal then and lapsed into a few minutes of silence. Frodo noticed that Sam kept rolling his shoulders ever so slightly nearly every time he brought his fork or cup up to his mouth, and his brow would furrow. _Surely Sam can’t pop his own shoulders; I’ve never heard of any hobbit who could._ But then again, Frodo had never known another hobbit with such strength and ability in his arms. Even the Gaffer, who hated to admit defeat in anything, would admit that, even in his prime, he could not match the sheer strength of his youngest son.

Frodo’s eyes flickered up to glimpse him again. _Still, even the sturdiest of hobbits can become worn and weary._ How hard must Sam’s job really be on him? Everyday, in all kinds of weather, since he was a child, Sam had lifted, tugged, carried, shoveled, pushed, walked, and even crawled. Never did he once complain or ask for anything more than his weekly wage. He had never even so much as expected a ‘thank you’.

Now Frodo’s own brow knitted; he was concerned. And he was guilty. He had the strange urge to reach across the table and take one of Sam’s work-weary hands in his own.

_Yes, Frodo Baggins, you just do that._ He choked down a suddenly bitter mouthful of eggs. _If he thought you’d gone off your crumpet before!_   But now that the idea was planted in his head he could not shake it.

~~*~~

  
“That was very good, sir. Thank you.”

Frodo started to smile, started to tell him it was nothing, but quickly frowned when he saw Sam rise and begin clearing the dishes. He jumped up himself and took the dishes from his hands. “Here Sam, I’ll take that. Why don’t you sit down and have a rest.”

“Oh.” Again Sam looked perplexed. “But I was goin’ to wash ‘em.”

“It won’t matter if they sit till morning; I can do them.” Frodo braced himself for the protest he knew was coming.

“Really Mr. Frodo, I don’t mind.”

Once again Sam reached for the dishes, but Frodo sat them down and, quick as a wink, caught Sam’s hand in his own. Good heavens, but they were strong. _No Sam, of course you don’t mind, but I do! I mind because you already do so much, and then I am left with nothing I can do for you!_ “ I know you don’t, but you’ve done enough for today. Let’s just relax and enjoy the evening.” Frodo squeezed his warm hand briefly, in a plea, before letting it go. “Let’s tuck up in the parlor and read through some of Bilbo’s old travelogues. They’re always so interesting.”

Sam’s smile was slow and a little unsure, but genuine. Frodo felt his heart thump. “Well, alright. That sounds right nice, actually.”

Frodo’s answering smile was blinding. “Good.” He took Sam’s elbow. “Come on, then.”

Leaving Sam in the parlor, Frodo went to the study to fetch the books. _Laketown. Yes, that’s a good one. Oh, and Rivendell. Sam loves hearing about the Elves._ He could not help but feel a bit giddy. Rarely did Sam allow himself to just relax; Frodo was glad and grateful that he would be with him.

He clutched the tombs to his chest and hurried back to the parlor, where he found Sam stirring the hearth fire. He announced his presence by chuckling fondly. “Really Sam, can you not allow yourself even a moment’s idleness?”

Sam turned and the firelight glinted off of his hair, and his shoulders, which Frodo noticed he was still stiffly rolling. “Well, it did need poking up, sir.”

“Yes, but…”

CRACK! Frodo froze in mid-sentence.

Bracing his chin with his left hand, Sam violently twisted his head to the right; the sound that issued from his neck froze Frodo’s blood. “Sam! Oh my heavens!”

“I know, sir.” Sam interrupted, and sighed. “I know the sound bothers you, and I’m sorry for that, but I really do need to. It’s ‘bout the only thing I can do to keep ‘em from lockin’ up.” And with that he once again braced his chin and shoved his head to the left.

CRACK!

Suddenly Frodo could take no more. He couldn’t take the sound; couldn’t take seeing Sam treat his own body so harshly. The books fell from his hands, unnoticed, as he crossed the room at lightening speed and grasped the back of Sam’s head, weaving his fingers through the curls to hold him firm. “Please! Please, my dear, enough!” _My dear? Oops!_   He loosened his vice-like hold and settled for very, very gently kneading his thumbs just at the nape of Sam’s neck, applying a barely perceptible pressure. “I know you say that it helps you, but I cannot help but think eventually it’ll do you more harm than good.”

“But, well, it’s just…” Sam was flustered, but Frodo refused to let him turn his head, his thumbs circled just a bit harder. “I’m sorry, sir," he began again; “But it just seems I overworked ‘em some today, and they’re gonna get mighty sore if I don’t do somethin‘.”

Was it Frodo’s imagination or did Sam sigh just the tiniest bit when he pressed his thumbs in right _here_? Again the small puff of breath escaped Sam’s lips. No, it was not his imagination. “It sounds like you’re breaking your own bones. You’re so hard on yourself. I’d hate to see you truly hurt. Maybe... maybe I can do something to help.” _What am I doing? What am I doing!_

“Oh, you don’t have to, Mr. Frodo.” Sam’s voice sounded choked, rather distant, but his head arched back just a fraction into Frodo’s hands.

Oh yes, he would do this, if granted permission.

“Please Sam,” Frodo answered, his own voice soft; “Just let me do this for you.” _For me!_

For the longest time Sam said nothing, just stood, breathing shallowly. Frodo applied no additional pressure or speed, but his fingers began to drift slowly along the back of Sam’s head and neck. _Waiting._ When his voice answered again Frodo could barely hear it, but it was more than enough.

“Alright.”

“We have some oil; it’s supposed to be good for sore muscles. I’ll go get it.” He fought a shiver as Sam’s curls slithered back out from between his fingers. Quietly he turned and headed for the bathing room. By the time he retrieved the oil and a towel he was breathing audibly. _You knocked on this door, Frodo Baggins! It opened, and now you walk through it. What comes of it, comes of it. But it’ll never do to have him see you so nervous._ He took a deep, calming breath. Even if this gesture was nothing more than a kind favor, he would do it gladly. Sam deserved to have someone care for him for once.

He returned to the parlor to find Sam exactly as he had left him. “Here, I found the oil.”

He turned to Frodo’s voice but did not meet his eyes. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but it looked as if Sam were blushing. “Thank you, sir.”

“This would probably work best if you were laying on your stomach, on the floor. It would be easier to reach your shoulders.”

Sam gazed quickly at the floor, then shuffled a few feet back from the fire. “Will this do?” He glanced up for just a second, then began to kneel.

“That’s fine.” Frodo tossed the couch pillows to the floor and set down the oil and towel. He prayed silently for the quaking in his hands to cease. “You’ll have to take off your shirt.”

Sam merely nodded and began to undo his buttons. The thin, fraying cotton slipped from his arms, leaving the firelight to dance across his bare back. Frodo could not help but stare as he too settled on the floor.

“What were you doing today to make yourself so sore? He opened the oil and poured a small amount in his hands, rubbing the palms together to warm the slick substance.

Sam cautiously stretched out on his stomach, half of his body (and probably all of his trust, Frodo realized) laid willingly bare. “That old bench up near the orchard, the one Mr. Bilbo used to like so well, was in bad need of repair. I figured it’d be simpler to just take the bench to the tool shed rather than tryin’ to cart everything I needed up to the orchard.”

“Oh Sam!” Frodo exclaimed as he laid his hands to Sam’s shoulders for the first time. His muscles were extremely hard, tense, and his skin so warm under Frodo’s fingers. “Tell me you didn’t carry that bench there and back all by yourself.”

He kneaded at a particularly tense spot just at the juncture of neck and shoulder and Sam sucked in a breath. Frodo pulled back. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah, just a might touchy there, is all.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, but working it out would probably be the best thing for it.” He swiped at the ridge again. Sam still flinched, but only just.

“I s’pose you’re right, Mr. Frodo.”

“I’ll try to be careful.”

“No need to worry about it, sir.”

_But I do worry, Sam. I worry about you more than you know._

He continued at the spot. _Knead, swirl, soothe._ Sam relaxed bit by bit as Frodo eased away the tension as tenderly as he could.

“I did try carrin’ the bench at first.” Sam finally admitted; “But I soon found even I couldn’t carry it that far, so I rolled it end over end. It wasn’t so bad goin’ downhill, but goin’ back up took a bit more.”

He chuckled lightly and Frodo felt the vibration run up through his hands and arms. It was the most intimate feeling he had ever experienced. He closed his eyes, sighed, and let himself give over to the feeling for a blissfully content moment before speaking again. “Why did you want to repair that bench anyway?” he asked; “No one really uses it now.”

He felt Sam take a deep breath. Frodo could tell he was thinking over his answer.

“Well, sir, I guess really there wasn’t no reason to, it’s just that it was one of Mr. Bilbo’s favorite sittin’ places.” His voice tapered slowly, slightly embarrassed, but mostly sentimental. “It just seemed a shame to let it ruin away.”

Frodo’s fingers stopped kneading so deeply; without thought he passed his hands down and up the length of Sam’s back in a light, sweet caress. The corners of his mouth and eyes turned up wistfully. “Yes, it would have been a shame. I shall have to make it a point to use that bench.”

Gooseflesh raised along Sam’s fire lit skin and rippled all the way down. Frodo couldn’t resist chasing it with another sweep of his palms. Sam turned his head, facing the fire, and snuggled his cheek into the pillow with the tiniest and most contented sigh. Frodo’s heart fluttered worse than his hands.

“Bilbo was fond of you, you know. He would be pleased to know you still took such care of his bench. That you even still thought to care for it at all... well, he would be very touched.” Frodo’s oiled, tingling fingers settled mid-way down Sam’s back, smoothing strokes from his spine down to curve around his ribs, and back again. Sam stretched and wriggled, whether in response to his words of his touch, Frodo didn’t know; either way the result was lovely.

“Ah, well, I --” Sam stopped for a sudden deep breath. “I liked Mr. Bilbo, a great deal, and I’m glad if he thought well of me in return.”

Frodo grinned. So modest was his Sam. _Smooth, touch, caress. So warm. Oh please, dear Valar, please let him accept what little comfort and pleasure I can offer!_

“He thought you were everything that is to be admired in a hobbit. As do I.”

His hands slowed now and he skimmed his blunt nails carefully along Sam’s entire quivering spine, bringing his thumbs down to trace and carve through the sensitive small of lower back. Frodo’s touch was no longer meant to relax, but to entice.

“I don’t tell you nearly often enough,” He gasped out in a raspy whisper; “But I appreciate everything you do here, so much. You care for everything in and around Bag End as if it were your own, and it’s all so beautiful because of you.”

Sam turned his face into the pillow in an effort to hide, but Frodo had seen the crystalline shimmer near his golden lashes. Taking up the towel, he blotted the excess oil from Sam’s back and off of his hands. Then, just as he had when he first heard Sam pop his neck, Frodo wove his fingers through his spun-gold curls and tugged ever so gently. “Sit up and I’ll do you arms.”

At first Sam gave no indication of even having heard, remaining motionless except for quick, shallow breaths. Again Frodo’s fingers spread wide across his scalp and plunged into the fine hair; he let the silky strands weave around his digits, caressing him in their own turn. “Sit up for me, Sam,” he beaconed.

Without a word Sam pushed up from the floor and tucked the pillow under his knees. His eyes steadfastly refused to gaze anywhere but straight ahead.

Frodo repositioned himself closer behind Sam; closer than was really needed, if the truth were known, but Frodo could not help but partake of the beautiful heat and scent that radiated from Sam’s exposed flesh. “I can reach your arms better this way; they must be sore as well.”

He was just reaching for the oil again when Sam’s honeyed, husky voice blessed his ears.

“Not to be forward, Mr. Frodo, but it you’re goin’ to do my arms like this, then you might want to take off your shirt as well. You might get oil on it, from my back, and it might stain.”

_Oh Great Eru!_

As always, Sam had a valid point, but Frodo couldn’t help but wonder if concern for his clothes was the only reason for his suggestion. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t. “Yes, good thinking.” He could barely push the words out but he unbuttoned and stripped off his shirt quickly enough.

After re-oiling his fingers Frodo scooted up as close as he dared, his exposed chest tingling with the closeness of Sam’s back, and once again reached for his shoulders. The muscles in Sam’s arms were well-defined and hard packed from his labor, but as Frodo worked his way from upper to fore arms, he could feel a different kind of tension in Sam’s body.

“Thank you.” Sam whispered, his head falling forward slightly, unsteady.

“You’re very welcome. It was…” _My pleasure!_   “You’ve certainly earned a chance to relax.”

“No.” Sam’s voice again, soft but earnest. “I don’t just mean for this, although I thank you for this too.” The hint of a grin slivered through his words. “I meant for what you said a minute ago, about me lookin’ after Bag End. That means a lot to me. Thank you.”

Frodo’s hands, still resting on Sam’s forearms, were unexpectedly covered and grasped by Sam’s own. For the love of the Shire, Frodo could not stop the tremble in his breath, or from leaning forward to nuzzle the nape of Sam’s neck. He spoke against the warm, hypnotic skin and was delighted when Sam actually whimpered. He clasped his arms around Sam’s chest. “Bag End could never be even half as lovely if you were not here, even if you never did a thing to care for the smial itself!” Lightly, so, so lightly, Frodo skimmed his lips up and down Sam’s neck, hoping, praying, that he’d not gone too far.

“Frodo!” Sam tipped his head aside, allowing access. “Please don’t stop.”

Breath and blood surged through Frodo's body. Oh, to hear his name spoken so. To hear Sam ASK!

 

Frodo crushed his mouth to Sam’s neck and sucked on the hot, tanned flesh till he knew there would be a mark. His hands roamed over Sam’s chest; he could feel the nipples stiffen under his caressing palms and a bolt of heat shot to his groin. Sam truly did want him! Frodo trailed kisses down the other side of his neck. Sam’s hand came back and cupped his head, holding tight to him.

“I never knew you -- ah Frodo!” He sighed as Frodo traced a particularly sensitive spot with his tongue. “I never knew you ever thought of me like this.”

“I’ve thought about you in many ways,” he replied. Now he stilled his kisses and held Sam tight to his chest. “I’ve always thought you were the best, most decent hobbit I’ve known; always so caring, so considerate.” Frodo had to sharply stifle a giggle; he could actually feel Sam blush, could feel the heat rising in Sam’s face, nestled so close to his own. He nipped Sam’s ear gently. “I’ve always thought you were the most handsome hobbit as well, with your fine golden hair, and the sweetest smile.” _Not to mention your powerful arms and broad chest, and oh, your glorious backside!_

“You’ve always done so much for me, but I would dearly love to care for you as well.”

Sam shifted suddenly and turned in Frodo’s arms; he flung his own arms about Frodo’s waist and buried his head in Frodo’s shoulder. Sam was shaking, though whether from laughter, tears, or arousal Frodo didn’t know. _More than likely a good dose of all three._ Whatever the reason, he was more than happy to snuggle Sam tight against him.

After a few quiet moments, Frodo could feel Sam’s lips pressing against his collar bone and moving in a teasing sweep out to his shoulder. Sam looked up at him with shining dark eyes. “You do more for me than you realize, Mist…”

_No! Not here! Not now, Sam!_

Frodo grabbed Sam’s face and stopped the flow of his words with a deep, heart-clenching, life-altering kiss. Their first kiss. It had the desired effect, for when Frodo finally pulled back he found Sam incapable of speech. He smiled. “Frodo, Sam. Just Frodo.” Sam stared at him. “You started to call me ‘Mr. Frodo’.” He explained as he stroked his thumb across Sam’s cheek; “I don’t want to be ‘Mr.’. I just want to be Frodo. A Frodo who cares for you very much!”

Sam’s smile blossomed across his face, slow but sure, radiant. “Yes sir!”

Frodo immediately opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word Sam’s smile melted into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Me dear!”

Well there was just nothing for it -- Frodo had to kiss him again. He rolled their bodies to the side and twisted until Sam lay on his back underneath him. His mouth drifted from Sam’s lips to his throat, his collar bone, and finally his chest. “I…” _Kiss._ “Am going…” _Kiss._ “To make you pay for that…” _Kiss._ “Samwise Gamgee!” And with that Frodo reached his desired target, and took Sam’s nipple into his mouth.

He suckled and swirled his tongue until Sam was practically pitching underneath him, his breath ragged. Sam threaded his hands through Frodo’s hair. “Frodo. Frodo!”

“Yes, love?” He asked innocently, gliding his wet lips across Sam’s chest to the other nipple; he flicked the tip of it with his tongue, then sucked in into his mouth. Sam’s hands tightened in his hair.

“Ah! Oh Fro -- Frodo! I want… to touch you too.” Sam stroked his hands down his back, as if to prove his point.

“And you will, Sam, Frodo promised; “Later.” He sat up and backed away from Sam’s reach. He began to loosen the ties on his breeches. “But tonight I want this to be for you.”

“But…” Sam barely got the word out, his eyes entirely on Frodo, who was shifting to lower his breeches down his legs.

In truth, Frodo was obviously, painfully aroused, _(To have a half naked, soon to be ALL naked Samwise Gamgee writhing beneath you, who WOULDN’T be?)_ but he knew he could satisfy his own passions soon enough. He wanted this night to be special for Sam. He wanted to bring Sam to the very brink of madness with pleasure.

He crawled back over Sam and lovingly kissed his forehead and then both eyelids. When Sam opened his eyes again Frodo smiled brilliantly at him and caressed his knuckles down his face. “Oh Sam, what a treasure you are!”

Frodo knew Sam would blush and protest at his words if given the chance. He denied Sam the chance by capturing him in another deep kiss, curling his tongue under Sam’s upper lip, along his smooth teeth, and along Sam’s own tongue. Sam moaned low in his throat; his clothed arousal hot against Frodo’s bare thigh.

He kissed his way down Sam’s neck and chest again, pausing to smile against his racing heartbeat, across his perfect, rounded tummy. Sitting back on the floor between Sam’s legs, Frodo fluttered his hands across Sam’s waistband and ties.

“Frodo.” Sam’s voice, tense, begging.

He pulled the laces and slipped the breeches and smallclothes down strong, lifting hips and legs. The heat in Frodo’s groin spiked clear through the clouds. Sam was so hard and flushed, and weeping silky drops. Unable to stop himself, Frodo brushed his fingers over the slick tip and trailed the pearly liquid down the side.

Sam practically bucked up off the floor; his hands clawed at the hard wood. “Please. Oh Frodo, please!”

Frodo’s eyes glittered, a new, wicked, beautiful idea forming in his mind. He reverently ran his fingers through Sam’s pearls again, then smoothed along the warm cleft. He knew exactly how he wanted to pleasure Sam, but such an intimate act for their first time? “Sam, I…” His mouth hung open, caught on the words, the longing.

Sam’s earthen eyes fluttered open and he smiled gently, trustingly. “Frodo.” He watched in slow motion as Sam reached down and clasped his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper into the cleft, to brush against his scalding hot opening. “Please Frodo, I want you so much.” Sam looked at him with such desire, such trust, beyond all embarrassment or hesitation now, radiating love. Frodo felt tears burn his eyes. He nodded.

“Yes.”

He reached for the massage oil and re-coated his fingers. He leaned down and kissed Sam again, briefly, reassuringly. “Love you so much!” He whispered. “I’ll be careful, but tell me if…”

Sam captured Frodo’s face in his hands and kissed him hard, tongue swirling deep. “You won’t hurt me,” He soothed; “I want to feel you, feel you loving me.”

_Oh, Valar, YES!_

“Always!” Frodo whispered, and he gently slipped his finger inside Sam’s heated entrance. Sam gasped but held onto his arm, refusing to let him relent or pull away. “Sam? Love?” His brows furrowed in worry. _Oh please let this be alright!_

As if he could read his thoughts, Sam stroked Frodo’s cheek and quickly reassured him. “I’m alright, just takes a bit of gettin’ used to, is all.” Frodo could feel the muscles relaxing slowly and he began to ease with them. Sam shifted his hips slightly. “Try movin’, just a little.”

He slowly withdrew his finger about three-quarters out, then just as slowly re-sheathed the digit. “Like this? Is this alright?” He repeated his movements and Sam shifted again encouragingly.

“Yes.” Sam breathed; “Try two now.”

Frodo slid a second finger into Sam, then stopped to let him adjust; after a few moments he felt the resistance ebbing and he thrust his fingers deeper inside, stretching as carefully as he could. Sam’s eyes drifted shut and he sighed, and bared down his hips. Frodo thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, always keeping a tender, steady rhythm. A third finger was added, and he dared to push even deeper, searching for the -- _Ah! There you are!_

Sam rolled his head to the side and began to writhe. “Oh, yes. Please, there!” Frodo brushed over the tiny, hard spot again and watched, rapt, as Sam’s neck arched. With his free hand he stroked Sam’s arousal.

  
“Ahhhhhh!” Sam keened. “Now. Frodo now, please. I want you now!”

_Not half as much as I want you!_   He withdrew his fingers from Sam’s body and started for the oil; he was surprised to find it in Sam’s hands. He quirked an eyebrow. “Sam?”

He unscrewed the lid and dipped his fingers inside. “Yes, love?” Despite his erratic breath, his tone was as light and as teasing as Frodo’s had been when he asked the same question a few minutes before. His slicked hand gripped Frodo’s erection, sliding from base to tip.

“Sam!” Frodo hissed as sparks ignited through his whole body. The pleasure was glorious, but he only dared let it go on for a few moments. He pried Sam’s hand away and kissed his knuckles. Without saying another word, Frodo placed the other couch pillow under Sam’s hips. He leaned over Sam, looking into his eyes, asking silently. Sam nodded, and Frodo pushed, barely enough to breech the entrance.

Sam suddenly clasped him with arms and legs and pulled him forward, hard, bringing Frodo fully inside him. Both hobbits cried out: Frodo in surprise, and Sam in discomfort.

“Sam!”

“I’m alright.” He closed his eyes and Frodo could tell he was trying to steady his breathing. He dropped kisses across whatever skin he could reach, trying to soothe them both.

“Dear Sam, why didn’t you wait?”

“’Cause I knew it would only hurt for a second, really,” he answered, stroking Frodo’s hair. “I’m used to stretchin’ my muscles, strain’ my body; sometimes it hurts, but it’s always worth it.” He cupped Frodo’s head and pulled him down for a tender kiss. “It’s always worth it.”

_Gods, I love you!_

“Gods, I love you!” Frodo bared down onto Sam’s body, trapping his arousal between their bellies, and slowly withdrew.

Out. _Slow pull, gentle, teasing_.

In. _Quicker, harder, promising._

Out. _Gliding, building._

In. _Joining, claiming._

“Mmmmmmmm.” Sam hummed and Frodo could feel it wrap around and vibrate through him. _Out._ “Oh Frodo.” _In._ “That’s so good. Love you.” _Out_. “Loved you for so long.” _In._ “Ohhh!”

Though Sam gripped at his back and begged for _‘faster!’_ , Frodo kept his slow, steady, maddening rhythm, thrusting deep. He wanted to hold Sam, and himself, on the edge until they screamed; wanted for Sam’s beloved hands to curl into his skin until they left red, pleading marks. Frodo’s entire being rushed with pleasure as he watched Sam pitch and toss beneath him. To be able to give this to Sam, to be able to share this joy with him, was surely the greatest blessing he could ever receive.

“Oh, my Sam!”

Sam could not form words to return the endearment, he could only arch his back and moan, which Frodo found more endearing than any words. He dropped a kiss onto Sam’s collarbone.

In. _Arching, moaning._

Out. _Panting, writhing._

In. _Clenching, trembling._

Out…

Sam’s neck snapped back, and Frodo could feel his already nearly unbearable tightness clench firm around him, drawing him ever deeper. “Oh Gods. Frodo. Frodo, I’m -- Frodo. Frodo!”

_YES, love, I’m right here. Right here with you._

Frodo sobbed as Sam orgasmed with his name on his sweet lips. Hearing his name, feeling Sam shudder and spill all around him, shoved Frodo into his own violent climax. His hips jerked and thrust over and over as he screamed and planted his seed inside his beautiful, loving Sam. He collapsed over Sam’s chest.

For long minutes neither could speak, but they could breath as one, and kiss, and caress, and hold, and love.

_Love._

“Love?” Sam finally queried, raising Frodo’s face in his hands.

_Oh, that sounds wonderful!_

Sam looked happy, but sheepish. “I surely don’t mean to complain, but if I don’t get up and stretch out my legs soon, I’m gonna be mighty useless in the garden tomorrow.” His voice was mirthful but slightly strained.

Frodo’s eyes flew open and he immediately lifted up, carefully disengaging himself from Sam’s body. He straightened one of Sam’s legs, flexing it, and then the other; he massaged Sam’s thighs. “You should have said something,” he admonished; “I wouldn’t have --”

“Wouldn’t have what?” Sam countered, grinning; “Worm me out in such a pleasant manner?”

Frodo’s face flamed. “Well, but…”

Sam raised his hands and Frodo eased him into a sitting position. Sam quickly kissed him. “Feel free to wear me out anytime you like.”

Frodo still blushed, but grinned as well. ”I just wanted to help you feel better.”

“I’ve never felt better in my life!” Sam nestled against his shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. Frodo held him close.

“Well, I have always heard that the best way to treat sore muscles is to keep working them,”

“That would definitely be worth lookin’ into. Tomorrow.” Sam let out a huge yawn.

_Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. Always._

Frodo picked up the towel and tenderly wiped at Sam’s belly, cleaning away the result of their loving. Let’s go to bed,” he offered. Frodo felt Sam nod against his shoulder, and the two cautiously helped each other to their feet.

CRACK!

The two hobbits stared at one another, stunned. Frodo snaked a hand around to his own back. “Ow!”

“Frodo! You should know better than that, now; poppin’ your joints ain’t good for you!” Sam did his very best to hide a laugh.

“I’ll just have to find a way to work it out then.” Frodo grinned and laced his fingers through Sam’s; “Won’t I?”


End file.
